


You Took Me By Surprise

by MistahJay (CassLikesFic)



Series: Gotham's Finest [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Cisswap, Crying, Edging, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Femdom, Femme!Joker, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderswap, Makeup, Masc!HarleyQuinn, Multiple Orgasms, Pegging, Power Dynamics, Smoking, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassLikesFic/pseuds/MistahJay
Summary: Joker straddles Harley's lap, a knee on either arm of the chair, no part of Joker's body touching his. She paints Quinn's face carefully, thumb and forefinger grasping his chin to turn his head. Joker doesn't talk while she works, and the feather light kiss of the brush on his skin and the nearness of her are enough to have him aching. He doesn’t ask why she’s choosing to paint his face. She wanted to, he said yes, so now he sits with her above him with nothing to do but sit still and watch her critical, narrowed eyes. Joker notices everything, and Quinn is trying to make a good impression. His nails are digging into the leather of the chair as he tries not to reach out and touch.





	You Took Me By Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this is not associated with any specific movie or print comic storyline - I thought “There’s no way that I’d be into this pairing” and then my brain went, “CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, MY DUDE”. This relationship is consensual. Everyone involved loves what’s happening.

Joker straddles Harley's lap, a knee on either arm of the chair, no part of Joker's body touching his. She paints Quinn's face carefully, thumb and forefinger grasping his chin to turn his head. Joker doesn't talk while she works, and the feather light kiss of the brush on his skin and the nearness of her are enough to have him aching. He doesn’t ask why she’s choosing to paint his face. She wanted to, he said yes, so now he sits with her above him with nothing to do but sit still and watch her critical, narrowed eyes. Joker notices everything, and Quinn is trying to make a good impression. His nails are digging into the leather of the chair as he tries not to reach out and touch.  


Quinn learned very quickly that he does not get to touch Joker. Joker laughs softly to herself (or loudly, it depends on how wrecked Quinn is) but never moans, never makes any indication that Quinn has any effect on her. Quinn might know if he touched Joker, but it isn't allowed. Not even in Quinn's fantasies.

Joker does things  _ to  _ Quinn. Not with or for him. Quinn is a blank canvas to be worked on, like Joker's face beneath the makeup. Quinn never knows what Joker will choose to do, and the uncertainty is what starts the fine round of trembling in his arms. The effort of preparing for anything.

Joker does not make statements like "I want" because that would show that Quinn has something she wants. Joker rarely makes statements like "you want me to" because Quinn isn't here to make demands and they both know it.

When Joker finishes painting Quinn's face, she pulls Quinn's mouth slightly open with the rough pad of her thumb and there's the barest flick of an eyebrow. The smile drops like it was never there and Quinn's stomach falls with it.

"I think you need me to fuck you." Joker says thoughtfully, the same way you'd say  _ I need to buy milk. _

Quinn says yes. He's here to say yes to Joker. Joker smiles and Quinn feels the way a candle must when it's burning, melting into bright heat as it dissolves. This is so rare but he prepares himself for it every time. Joker laughs with pure pleasure each time she discovers how eager Quinn is to anticipate any desire she might have.

Joker never hurts him, which is unbearably cruel. If Joker's thrusts grew rough, hands tight on hip or thigh, Quinn might know more of what she liked. Instead, Joker lets Quinn melt inside his own head while she opens him up slowly, a hopeful mess of arched limbs. Joker gathers Quinn close to her chest. She murmurs soothing, tender threats as she fucks Quinn in slow, long strokes that make him cry out in waves like Joker's hysterical laughter. Joker watches every change in Quinn's face with intense focus.

It can take hours, because Joker doesn't see a reason why it shouldn't. She brings Quinn to the edge and backs away, starts him talking. Joker fucks him into the shaggy dressing room carpet, dusty with cigarette ash. Quinn laughs helplessly as he feels orgasm getting near and knowing he won't reach it. Quinn forgets any word but  _ please _ . Joker stops. Still inside him, toying idly with Harley's hair, she asks about the weather, his day at work. Quinn breaks and sobs and Joker soothes him through it. Quinn comes untouched without her say-so and cries harder still while Joker cards tender, understanding fingers through his hair.

Joker makes him apologize for the damp stains Quinn leaves on the front of her suit. Quinn closes his eyes and says with heartfelt atonement and shaking breath, "I'm sorry about your suit, Mister J." Joker murmurs gentle threats against his painted skin, what will happen if Quinn does it again. Quinn cries through the aftershocks and tries to promise it won't. Joker shushes him, fingers on his lips and then in his mouth. The taste of paint in his mouth and the smell of her cologne and cigarettes are entwined forever in his mind.  


"It will, Harley. I’ll make sure it does." She says with tenderness that makes Quinn shudder at the promise. With his body oversensitive and screaming for rest, Joker starts over. Deeper, gentler, and even slower. Quinn's laughter grows frantic immediately because this is a new kind of torture and he's terrified, and he loves it.

Joker is infinitely creative. Joker keeps her word. It happens again and again.

Joker doesn’t stop driving into him to listen to Quinn's apologies, his laughter, his sobs. The room becomes a blur of white hot pleasure and tears, each peak more painful and intense than the last. He's wrung dry and shaking, no longer laughing or crying, just making ragged hopeless sounds. It goes on forever. It doesn’t go on long enough. He’s floating an inch outside of his own skin, his world narrowed down to that raw nerve end feeling and a velvet silence inside his head. His thoughts are as thick and heavy as the velvet curtains that separate the dressing room from the rest of the club.  


Joker says the cruelest thing she's ever told him, hands cupping his face for a gentle kiss. "I'm very happy with you, Harley. You did very well." It takes the better part of an hour for Quinn to calm down after that, soothed back into that dark, languid headspace where he's pliant and drunk on the experience. “My pretty cop.”

Joker holds him tenderly, wipes the makeup off his face in messy stripes. "You're not leaving tonight." Joker adds. If he was able to think, he’d marvel at the intimacy of that order. He doesn’t know anything beyond the green room door of the abandoned comedy club, the intensity of those yellow vanity lights. He doesn’t even know if there’s a bedroom in this place.

He could sleep, curled up at her feet on the dirty carpet. Quinn doesn't have the strength to do more than let his cheek rest against Joker's chest where she's guided it. His eyelashes are damp and spiky, and his breath catches on the top of each inhale. "I just want to make you happy, Mister J." Quinn says weakly, like a sleepwalker. Quinn hasn’t tried to lie to Joker in a long, long time.

"You do, Harley." Joker says, softly, petting him with careful hands. “You always make me smile.” Quinn is too wrecked and floating to hear the soft note of surprise in her voice at her own admission.


End file.
